


Before the Dawn

by Duvessa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Beta Wanted, F/M, Horcrux Hunting, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Slow Build, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duvessa/pseuds/Duvessa
Summary: Harry Potter is dead.In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War the Wizarding World of Britain is still recovering. While the hunt for the last of Voldemort's followers is still ongoing years after The Final Battle, Hermione has been searching for what she believes to be the final Horcrux. Now, years later, the Wizarding World is shaken again by attacks on muggle-born witches and wizards.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in desperate need of a Beta Reader.  
> Proceed with caution.
> 
> I haven't written anything in a while. This is me trying to get back into the saddle and to practice my English writing skills (ESL). Any critique and suggestions are welcome.  
> Anyone mad enough to offer spell- and grammar-checking will earn my undying loyalty and gratitude.

It wasn't as if any of them had anticipated how things would turn out. Neither of them had believed anyone would live to see times as dark as these. Harry was dead. The Dark Lord was gathering his strength once more, but he didn't need to be present for the world to fall to pieces. His followers were ever-present and strong enough in numbers to make life for them living hell. 

Hermione kept staring into the night. It had become her thinking spot. Here, on the astronomy tower, where Dumbledore had been murdered almost two years ago, she had the much needed quiet to hear her own thoughts and had a constant reminder why they kept going. 

The dark stretched over the Forbidden Forest. Somewhere in there where the centaurs patrolling their territory. It wasn't a service provided to the hand full of witches and wizards at Hogwarts, who were busying themselves with rebuilding the school. It was a necessity as Voldemort's followers had intruded the Forbidden Forest before, by what was now known as The Battle of Hogwarts, to recruit them. Many of the centaurs had died. The grudge they had been holding against the Wizarding World had run deep even before that, now it was a miracle in Hermione's eyes that they didn't seek out wandering witches and wizards to inflict their revenge. 

Centaurs where better than that, although Firenze had made it clear that the only reason none of the centaurs had killed her when she had crossed paths with them while out in the Forbidden Forest to gather herbs, was that she had been Harry Potter's friend. It had been the Centaur's last service to the Boy Who Lived, nowadays known as The Boy Who Died. 

Pain blossomed in her chest and she let out a shaky breath. That was what the Daily Prophet called him nowadays: The Boy Who Died. 

Gnawing on her bottom lip she wrapped her robe tighter around her. Not only her life had become a mess after Harry had died. Things had changed. She wasn't sure if for the better or worse. The world hung in a delicate balance and it had yet to tip. 

  


It had been an epic battle. At least, that was what the rest of the world had read in the press. It had been brutal, desperate and filled with so much violence and death, Hermione was sure the next five generations at Hogwarts would be able to see the Thestrals pulling the carriages from Hogsmeade train station to the castle. If the school would ever reopen that was. 

Closing her eyes she remembered hugging Harry goodbye, tears streaming down her face, before he had gone into the Forbidden Forest to face down their enemy, alone. Harry had come back, cradled in Hagrid's arms, a dead cold body. She saw the shell of her best friend being dropped to the floor by the shaking giant, could hear the laughter of the creature they had called Lord like a whisper carried in the cold wind. 

Harry hadn't been dead. Not then. He had groaned and coughed while scrambling back to his feet, clutching his wand and aiming it at Voldemort. Things had gone out of hand then. Their curses had collided. Red and green light intertwined into each other until an explosion of power had knocked back almost everyone present in the courtyard. When the dust had settled, Voldemort had vanished, leaving nothing behind other than his yew wand, and Harry had been dead. This time for good. 

She rolled her taut shoulders, stretched her stiff back. The clock struck three times. Hermione had been brooding for hours on end and just like all those nights before it didn't change a single thing. Harry was still dead and Voldemort was still out there. 

The Wizarding World was holding its breath. No one wanted to admit that there was an ever so slight chance Voldemort could have survived, yet they were living in stifled suffocating fear with the recent events still so fresh in their memories one could still taste it in the air.

  


In the events following the battle, the school had been closed for months before reconstruction finally had begun. Previous professors and wizards and witches from Hogsmeade had rebuilt their homes alongside. During those months the ministry had undergone a complete reorganisation. Members of the Order, who had been working at the ministry previously, had not so much stepped up to the plate but had the responsibility to deal with the aftermath of everything been pushed onto them. A task force for the reformation of the Ministry of Magic had been installed. 

  


A new Wizengamot had been formed under Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley, which they had called The Wizarding Tribunal and which had entailed Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones. They had asked Hermione to take part as representative of the DA, now known as a sub-organisation to the Order of the Phoenix and for leading the Battle of Hogwarts. She had refused and in her stead, Neville Longbottom had taken the seat.

The clumsy boy had grown into a strong young man. They nominated Arthur Weasley for the leading seat of the Wizarding Tribunal as the public requested Shacklebolt to step up as Minister of Magic until things were settled. Rufus Scrimgeour was imprisoned, yet waiting for his sentence.

There had also been two ministry representatives nominated for the Wizarding Tribunal. Patricia Oldenstein, a half-blood witch in her mid-thirties, a prior ministry representative of the Muggle Liaison Office, and Geoffrey Williamsbourg, a muggle-born in his late fifties, with thin hair who had acted as an Auror during the First Wizarding War. 

Each representative of the Tribunal had undergone an inquiry under the influence of Veritaserum before they had been sworn in. The inquiry itself had taken place under the watchful eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Aberforth Dumbledore, who had sworn the Unbreakable Vow not to speak of anything that they had heard during the extensive questionings.

Every newspaper, magazine and radio station known in the Wizarding World had covered every step the Wizarding Tribunal had taken. The Wizarding Tribunal had promised full transparency to the public and that was what the Wizarding Community got.

The remaining staff of the ministry was busy repairing muggle London and obliviating the public for them to forget magic existed. Memories of black shadows and flashes of light were replaced with explosions, gas leaks, fires and other accidents prone to the muggle world. The Prime Minister remaining the only person aware of the existence of the Wizarding World alongside the Queen herself. All the while ministry employee after ministry employee had been called into questioning to be cleared by the Wizarding Tribunal of any involvement in the doings of Voldemort and of aiding or abetting a Death Eater.

Things were progressing slowly in the Ministry. Each questioning took a tremendous amount of time with the ministry constantly running low on Veritaserum, all the while muggle London had to be brought under control and Death Eaters were still on the run. 

After the peak of the Final Battle, where Harry had died, the Death Eaters had apparated away faster than the witches and wizards fighting them had been able to stun the cowards. Amongst the escapees were Death Eaters and Snatchers alike. Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, the Snatcher Scabior - whose real name no one had found out yet - the Carrow siblings, Anthony Dolohov, the Nott family and Corban Yaxley were the names atop the list of Most Wanted Witches and Wizards.

Another unsolved and pressing issue where those who had escaped from Azkaban after Voldemort had destroyed half of it in order to free his loyal followers in preparation of the Second Wizarding War. The dementors were still not reinstated as guardians, their whereabouts unknown and due to their allegiance to Voldemort not trusted by the ministry. 

Just because the war was over the world wasn't safe. There were too many loose ends, the society too shaken up to resume with their day to day life in a somewhat normal manner. 

  


  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is in desperate need of a Beta Reader.  
> Proceed with caution.
> 
> I haven't written anything in a while. This is me trying to get back into the saddle and to practice my English writing skills (ESL). Any critique and suggestions are welcome.  
> Anyone mad enough to offer spell- and grammar-checking will earn my undying loyalty and gratitude.
> 
> EDIT:  
> I was asked to post my work aligned to the left instead of justified as it is easier to read.

It had taken a whole year to repair the damage in Diagon Alley. Today, two years after The Final Battle, empty shop windows sat dark. Gaping eyes in the quiet street. It was spring as Hermione hurried along to visit her small vault in Gringotts. Olivander's shop was still amongst the unoccupied stores. Olivander had never fully recovered from the torture. He had taken to spend his life in solitude. He was still making wands, as it was more habit than anything. Yet he wouldn't sell any of them. He was too terrified still what the wands he had helped to create had done to him and other witches and wizards. Olivander had lived through the First Wizarding War, but it had not left him as scarred as the Second had. 

Hermione's vault was small and narrow. The cave only as wide as the door which guarded it. In it were a few minor possessions too valuable to carry. Amongst them Harry's cloak of Invisibility, the copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard Dumbledore had left her, and the money the Ministry had bestowed upon their surviving war heroines and heroes as compensation. In a small alcove sat her beaded bag, the Undetectable Expansion Charm still active. The bag still held Perkins' magical tent, the majority of her library, now extended by a few volumes from the forbidden section at Hogwarts library, which she had sneaked out of the castle after the Final Battle. 

War had made her cautious. Before she did not see Voldemort falling with her own eyes, she would not believe him to be dead. Besides, they had yet to find the other Horcruxes.

Harry had not been able to retrieve Helena Ravenclaw's diadem. It was still lost at the castle or Merlin knew where. Nagini they had killed, or better yet Neville had killed the damn snake with the Sword of Gryffindor. Helga Hufflepuff's cup Hermione and Ron had destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets. The Locket Harry and Ron had destroyed in the Forest of Dean with the Sword of Gryffindor.

Her fingers traced over the shimmering fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, which lay next to the Marauders Map. Harry had gone into the forest anyway, knowing not all Horcruxes were destroyed. Now he was dead, and they still hadn't found it. The Room of Requirement had been destroyed by the fiendfyre Crabbe or Goyle had cast. Which one of them, she didn't remember. After revisiting those memories so often things had started to become blurred. They had to trust and guess that it had been in there, destroyed by the curse that had ended Vincent Crabbe's life, along with the room itself. Even if the room itself wasn't destroyed, no one had been able to reopen it. It had stayed hidden, even though her need for it was desperate.

Pocketing a generous amount of galleons she turned to leave, hesitating at the door, what earned her an impatient look from the goblin waiting for her outside. Her eyes fell back to the cloak and map, contemplating the magical items before she picked them up. Wearing muggle clothes she had nowhere to carry them. Grabbing her beaded bag she shoved the items inside. The neatly stacked books inside rumpled as she turned around to step out of her vault. They were not at war, not anymore, but it didn't feel like peace either. It felt like a stalemate to her and that she could not be prepared enough returning to Hogwarts to find out everything she could about the whereabouts of the last missing Horcrux.

  


\- - -

  


It was four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, in history books also known as the Final Battle, when the first students arrived at Hogwarts. Hermione stood atop the astronomy tower, the very same spot she had been standing almost every night after searching an empty and seemingly abandoned castle for a trace of, what she hoped was, the last Horcrux.

The number of first years would be meagre, given that amongst the almost 200 children only thirty percent were about eleven years old. This year there would be no second class and no third class. The teenagers who had missed out on years of schooling had either transferred to wizarding schools abroad in light of Hogwarts not being open or had been home-schooled.

The Ministry had allowed that the sevenths and sixths year students from 1998 would be able to take their N.E.W.T.s in the Ministry under the supervision of the remaining professors. At least those students who had not been killed in the Final Battle.

The students home-schooled had been either allowed to take their O.W.L.s in the Ministry as well, if they had been in their fifth year at that time already, preparing them for transferring to other schools.

This year, there would be a huge flock of first years between the ages of 11 and 13, as well as special trainings and classes for students who returned to Hogwarts after only having attended the first year at the end of the Second Wizarding War. Not every family was able to afford to send their children abroad. So with special curriculum activities and extra classes, a few select would be able to qualify to take their O.W.L.s early next year with jumping over a few classes. 

The Wizarding World was desperate for the young adult witches and wizards to finish their education and participate in society. The war had thinned out the ranks drastically and the number of the witches and wizards found guilty of war crimes or being a supporter of Voldemort had kept rising. 

Taking a deep breath Hermione asked herself if all this was worth it. She had to believe it, she told herself. 

  


This year it wasn't Minerva McGonagall to pick up the new students at the side entrance of the castle after Hagrid had guided them in front of the doors of the main hall. It was Hermione greeting the children. It was a task she hadn't asked for, but McGonagall had thought would strike the children with awe. She was, after all, a war heroine. Hermione Jean Granger, the brightest witch of her age, member of the Golden Trio, best friend to Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Died, the boy who had defeated the Dark Lord. 

It turned out the new headmistress had been right. The young students gasped as soon as the whispers of who was waiting atop the stairs for them made it to the last pair hurrying up the broad stone staircase. 

Hermione tried to picture her arrival here. A memory she had treasured for a very long time. The longer the war had raged on those precious memories had become faint impressions in her mind. With all the fighting, the running and hiding, with all the cruelty and death Hermione had forgotten how happiness felt. 

"Good evening," she said, "and welcome to Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry." 

There were innocent eyes gazing up at her and a dark-haired boy with pale skin whose eyes glanced at her with a dark expression. It was not hatred, but genuine loathing. He stood close to the front. Standing only a few steps down he reminded her of a very young Malfoy, who had stood alongside her atop the very same stairs a lifetime ago. 

"And apparently at least one new Slytherin has found their way here," she mused. Hermione could joke, could laugh. She had leaned in the years after the war how to make a show, how to lie, how to misdirect. The boy lowered his gaze and the smile tugging on Hermione lips felt genuine for the briefest of moments. 

The Malfoy's currently led a life as outcasts. Hauled up in their manor, it had taken several searches and countless interrogations of the lord and lady of the house, as well as their son, who had taken the dark mark in sixth year, until the estate was cleared. 

It was murmured that most of their fortune had been used to pay for the repair of the damage they had caused. Their reputation was destroyed, Lucius Malfoy was currently sitting in Azkaban prison, which was guarded by wizards instead of Dementors, and Hermione had no recollection of what Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were doing with their lives, other than the dreadful pictures she had caught glimpses of in the Daily Prophet. Mother and son looked dreadful from what she had seen. Society wasn't giving them an easy time, as they were spared execution or any other imprisonment sentences other than Lucius Malfoy's. As they had complied with Ministry procedures and had not been found at fault for any other crime during the Second Wizarding War other than Lucius Malfoy opening his home to Voldemort and Draco Malfoy repairing the Vanishing Cabinet in his sixth year, which had opened a passage for the death eaters to the castle to kill Dumbledore. 

It was the ministries understanding that Lucius had not committed any crime such as an Unforgivable Curse. Everyone was aware that when the Dark Lord had commanded him to use his manor as their headquarters or that Lucius was to give up his wand to Voldemort in order to try the Killing Curse on Harry Potter with a wand that was not Harry's wands twin, they would not have had any chance to object either. Yet no one voiced their thought on that matter. His imprisonment was a show, and a punishment kept lightly as he had to only rot in a Dementor-free Azkaban for thirty years. 

Draco Malfoy had been found guilty as to aiding and abetting to the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Yet, the Ministry had not been able to punish Malfoy, as he had been a minor whilst committing the crimes. The Wizarding World had screamed for the Malfoy's to receive The Kiss and for Malfoy junior to rot in Azkaban as well, yet the Ministry had not ruled on a sentence as harsh as that. Hermione still wondered who had been the voice of reason on Malfoy's sentencing on the Wizarding Tribunal.

The Malfoy's had been made into an example for anyone who had been involved to step forward and cooperate. Hermione knew the Tribunal to be cowards. As much as the thought hurt her, with Neville and Arthur being on it, it was her firm belief that Tom Riddle was not dead yet. The Malfoy's had been at his side twice now and as the muggle saying went: three times was a charm. 

After finishing the short instruction as to how the sorting ceremony would take place, Hermione led the first-year students into the Great Hall. As soon as the heavy doors swung open silence fell over the Great Hall. 

Countless candles were floating above the four house tables and the ceiling portrayed a clear night sky. The tables were not as full as Hermione had hoped. Never had she seen the tables of the four houses so empty. 

She had known there wouldn't be as many students in Hogwarts as in her days, but seeing how small their number was made her sad. 

In front of the big sturdy table, the professors sat behind, Hermione stopped. There stood a stool for them to sit on and the Sorting Hat sat on the headmistress lectern. A memory of Dumbledore standing there brushed her mind. She turned to look at McGonagall, instead her eyes found a man with dark hair sitting at the table, next to an empty seat which would be hers after the sorting ceremony.

It took Hermione a moment to regain her bearings before she forced herself to turn back around. Facing the hall with students she produced a parchment with the names of the new students in alphabetical order and called the first name. 

McGonagall had to be kidding her!

  


It had taken a while to sort 58 students to the four houses. The Slytherin table had been the table with the smallest number as well as the table to gained the least amount of students. 

The first student to be sorted to Slytherin, had been a girl by the name of Belinda Bagginston. The hall had held its breath. It had been McGonagall who had started to clap slowly to break the stifling atmosphere. The applause was not nearly as eager as when another of the houses gained a student.

The boy who had been glaring at Hermione in the hallway was Chadwick Rosier. A pureblood. Hermione made it her life's work to know everything there was to know even before she had started as a first year herself. Which was why she she also knew every remaining pureblood family - at least by their names. Voldemort, the war, it had only made her obsession and her need for knowledge worse. At times she wasn't even able to remember all the knowledge she had collected.

What she did remember, however, was, that the man on the teacher's table had no place in Hogwarts. Not anymore. And yet, he was here. 

As Hermione rolled up the scroll with the student's names she turned to take her empty seat at the table. McGonagall was studying her, their eyes meeting as the headmistress got to her feet, rounding the long tacher's table on the other side, to address the students. If McGonagall was able to read the barely contained outrage in Hermione's eyes, she didn't show. 

  


"Good evening, students," the headmistress' voice boomed, silencing the whispers scattered along the Great Hall. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts, school of Wizardry and Witchcraft. As all of you know, we have faced terrible and dark times not long ago, some of it having happened at this very castle." Hushed voices emerged among the students, causing McGonagall to raise her voice. "You will read about it in your history books.

"I am proud to stand here today and look at how many of you have returned to proceed with your studies at this very school. For those of you who have been attending Hogwarts before those dark times, let me assure you that you will be safe here, the safest you can be. 

"As you have been sorted into your houses let me introduce you to your heads of house and your teaching staff: Professor Neville Longbottom, who has joined us from the Ministry and who will teach Herbology and who will be Head of House of Gryffindor-" a wild roar and applause broke out at the Gryffindor table, swallowing the addition that Neville would only join as a junior teacher - "Professor Horace Slughorn, who will be teaching -"

Hermione didn't listen to McGonagall. Instead, she slid down into her chair, flanked by Hagrid on one side, and a man she despised on the other. 

"Good to see you," Hagrid said, leaning towards her, smiling. Ever since the war his beard and hair were streaked with thick grey strands. Hagrid, like so many of them, had aged decades in a too short amount of time. War did that to people. 

Hermione felt stiff, she had no comforting or greeting words for Hagrid, instead, she grabbed her cup, praying that it held wine instead of pumpkin juice. Lifting it to her mouth she paused, however. Hermione craved something, anything, to dull her emotions. The cup held wine, but then again a potions master sat to her right. Hesitatingly she lowered the cup without drinking. 

To her left, Hagrid went on with sparkling eyes to be able to teach again. He returned to the staff with the position most well suited for him: Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione knew he would be splendid at it, in his odd, unique way. It would also help him feel needed - an urge many of them had after being driven by fighting and survival for so long. Hermione missed who would be Head of House for Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, her thoughts occupied by the change in staffing. She had not missed the introduction of the Head of House of Slytherin though. Severus Snape, who would teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

The headmistress summarised at the end that Horace Slughorn had returned for one year to teach Potions until a new teacher could be found, and Hermione, who was taking over Arithmancy classes, and Neville would be handled as _junior teacher_. Meaning, that even though they lacked experience as teachers and were fairly young, their skill and accomplishments qualified them for teaching. They would regularly be supervised until they had eased into their position. 

The speech was over and dinner magically appeared on the five tables, conjured by house-elves. Hermione had no mind to think about their rights or to ask McGonagall if they were all free elves, paid and treated accordingly. Instead, she gave in to her urge and grabbed her cup again, downing the red, velvet liquid, daring the potions master to have poisoned her drink.

The bitter taste the wine left in her mouth was no residue of any potion however and she felt upset with herself to not have smuggled some firewhisky to Hogwarts. Hermione could only remember a handful of times where she had wanted to drown her sorrow. One of those occasions had been the day of Harry's memorial. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will come weekly from now on. I just had those first two lying around ready to be posted. Enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting in her office she downed another cup of wine. Hermione was furious with McGonagall, annoyed with Neville. She was angry with the world.

After supper, of which she had hardly eaten and had tasted nothing of, she had followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall as the prefects were taking the students to their common rooms. She had brushed off Neville and Hagrid, who had tried to speak to her.

"Professor McGonagall," she had called, hurrying to catch up with her former Head of House.

McGonagall had stopped for a moment until she realised what topic Hermione was about to address.

"Professor," Hermione started again after having caught up with the headmistress, trying to keep up with her now hurried steps. "If I may, a word?"

"Tomorrow is a good day as any, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, gathering the front of her robes to climb the steps.

"Professor!" Hermione called, causing McGonagall to stop again.

The older witch turned around to look at Hermione, who had stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She was panting heavily whereas McGonagall looked at her calmly.

"I really would like to know why and <how>?" Hermione insisted

She knew her former mentor well enough to see her battling with herself to not speak her mind. Hermione guessed she wouldn't like it.

"This is neither the time nor the place," McGonagall said. "It is late. You should retire and prepare for your first day tomorrow."

"With a Death Eater in the castle." Hermione had spoken before she had realised it, the sound of her own voice startling her. She sounded shocked and almost vile.

McGonagall retreated the few steps she had been ahead of Hermione.

"Miss Granger," she started, standing on the lowest step above Hermione, "I do not think I have to consult with you on my staffing decisions, whereas Professor Severus Snape has received a full pardon by the Wizarding Tribunal for his services during the war." McGonagall straightened her back, flustered. "And now, if you may excuse me. I kept the information from you to avoid this very conversation. Good night."

With that, McGonagall had torn away from the forced conversation, leaving Hermione alone in the grand staircase. She had huffed, annoyed before she felt a looming presence behind her.

Turning around, she was confronted with Severus Snape, dressed in his button down black robes, his hair dark and stringy. The look he wore on his face showed nothing of his emotions although Hermione was certain he had heard every bit.

Groaning, Hermione rested her face in her hands as she sat at her desk. Her quarters were lit by a fire and several candles placed about the room. She resided on the fifth floor, her quarters consisting of two rooms and a small adjoined bathroom. The stonewalls bare other than for the windows, the stone floors layered with carpets. In front of the fireplace a worn armchair and an old sofa stood around a coffee table. She liked her bed. The huge four-poster monstrosity reminded her of her bed in the Gryffindor girls' dorm. Nowhere but in Hogwarts had she slept in such massive beds.

The dark wood shelfs and cupboards scattered in the two rooms held her possessions and books. Hermione had been already staying in those very quarters during the last weeks of her frantic search of the castle. Back then those living quarters had been a safe place for her to retreat to. Now they felt suffocating.

Massaging her skull she wondered why and when McGonagall and the goddamn Ministry had lost their mind. Snape had walked past her without a word, his face a mask set in stone. Just like she remembered him from her potions classes. She trusted him as far as she could throw him.

For a moment she had considered paying Neville a visit, asking him, if he, a member of the Wizarding Tribunal, had gone mad, or if someone maybe had hexed his brain to be replaced by flobberworms. Given her questionable success with McGonagall, and the part where she had involuntarily let Snape know what she thought of him, she decided she had made enough enemies for one evening.

Downing another glass of red wine she slumped back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest like a stubborn teenager, glaring at the empty room. Hermione hated not knowing things. She was itching to find out what the Wizarding Tribunal had learnt during their interrogations. Especially what Snape had had to say was of particular interest to her.

Once again she found herself regretting the decision to turn down her seat in the Wizarding Tribunal. The only thing that kept her from tearing her hair out over it was the fact she wouldn't have been able to do anything with the knowledge, anyway. Hermione hadn't been present when the Unbreakable Vows had been taken, the phrasing of them had to have been particular, however. Almost every conversation about the actual war Arthur Weasley had retreated from.

Hermione wasn't sure if he had just been hiding behind the Unbreakable Vow, using it as an excuse so he wouldn't have to revisit the events, or if the topic had become a minefield for him that even listening quietly felt too dangerous. She suspected the latter. Arthur was by no means a coward. She knew from experience how difficult it was to remain a silent listener when one had to contribute so much to a conversation.

The only way she could find out what had been said behind the closed doors when the Wizarding Tribunal had been in session, was by speaking to Snape directly. Hermione scowled at the leather-bound notebook resting on her desk. It held all her thoughts, assumptions and suspicions… and also the meagre collection of actual facts she had. It also held the date of Snape's first inquiry, the number of hearings and a note about him not replying in any way to her written request to speak to him. Only if one considered radio silence a reply. In which case Hermione had gotten the message loud and clear.

She pulled her notebook up, opening it to scan over the pages. The amount of question marks and circled words was frustrating. Too many open questions, too many things she hadn't figured out yet. One of them being the current location of the Elder Wand.

Her only solace had been that Voldemort hadn't found it either. The fact him not carrying the powerful wand at the Final Battle could only mean that at the end neither of them had found it. Dumbledore's tomb had been empty. Ever since 1997 the Elder Wand was untraceable.

Groaning she threw the notebook back onto the desk. It was no use. There was nothing, nothing she could do she hadn't already done. She had searched the castle for nearly two months, had tried to convince the ghosts of the castle to help her - which had ended disastrously with Peeves and frustratingly with Nearly Headless Nick. All the other ghosts had avoided her like the plague. Apparently, even ghosts needed to mourn.

Hermione had spent hours and hours talking to portraits, searching the dungeons and had even searched for hidden doors they had missed during their six years at Hogwarts. The Marauders Map hadn't been of any help either.

She had been searching alone. For the diadem in Hogwarts and for the Elder Wand in the world behind the once so secure walls. They didn't believe her. None of them did.

Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore. It all came back to him.

Instead of wasting her time on Snape, she navigated her thoughts on what little actual information she had… or technically had.

Technically Voldemort was dead. At least the Wizarding World believed the lie they had kept telling themselves for years now. Technically whatever Snape had done or not done while working both sides as a spy, the Tribunal had deemed him worthy to live life as a free man. It did not change the fact he had killed Albus Dumbledore.

McGonagall had questioned Harry countless times, the whole Order had, but only to Ron and her Harry had opened up completely. It had been the night after they had come across the destroyed trailer park on their run. She remembered the look on Harry's face, could almost hear his voice. He had looked so sad and lost. Powerless.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she scolded herself for behaving like an impulsive teenager after dinner. It had been the war, she told herself. Pouring herself another glass of wine she walked over to one of the windows, overseeing the lake, placing the bottle on the stone-made windowsill. The war had forced them to grow up, all of them. The way they all tried to hold on was ridiculous.

The Wizarding World had suffered heavy losses. The desperation and lack of capable witches and wizards palpable. The last scattered cells of Voldemort's followers were terrorising muggle-born wizard families. The aurors scattered across the country, the department stretched thinly trying to contain it and hunt them down. The headmistress of Hogwarts had taken to recruiting two 24-year-olds to teach. Maybe, Hermione wondered nursing her glass, taking Snape back on as a teacher was fuelled by the same desperation that had made McGonagall hire Neville and herself.

The only things she knew for a fact were the two most obvious issues at hand, which she'd have to face next. First of all, Snape. Her issue with the beak-nosed wizard being that he had played both sides during the second war and had believed enough in the cause to take the Dark Mark during the rise of Tom Riddle. Hermione didn't know his motives, couldn't be sure that maybe only his latest acts as a spy and informant had redeemed him in the eyes of the Wizard Tribunal or if there had been more to it. She didn't understand him. Hermione couldn't trust things she didn't understand. The second problem was that neither drinking nor Dreamless Sleep potion were suitable long-term solutions.

Her mind drifted back to the last Order meeting two weeks after the Final Battle.

\- - -

  
_"But I tell you!" Hermione pressed on while the remaining members of the Order were seated around the table. "There is at least one more out there!"_

_Silence fell over the room, like a thick sateen blanket._

_"Hermione, dear," Molly sighed, grabbing the young witches hands in her own, turning on her chair to face the young witch. "It is over. Voldemort is dead."_

_"But for how long?" she asked again, pulling her hands from Molly's grip._

_There were more than a dozen people gathered around the table in Grimmauld Place 12. It was their last meeting. They had come together one last time in such a large number, to toast to all those they had lost and to promise themselves that they would help rebuild their world. Each of them was averting their eyes when Hermione meet their gaze. All but Charlie Weasley, Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt._

_Aberforth Dumbledore might have her back, but the wizard had made a point in not showing up today. He needed to grief by himself._

_"I tell you what Harry had told us," Hermione said. Ron squirmed in his chair, knowing what was about to come. "Voldemort was connected to Harry to the very last moment. You all acknowledged it when he ran into the Forbidden Forest alone to die!" She had raised her voice towards the end even though she had not intended too._

_"The visions he had of Voldemort, he had seen a diadem too. And what else could it be than Rowena Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem?" Hermione pressed on, bringing the same arguments she had half a dozen time already. No one would interrupt her anyhow. By the sad looks on their faces, they all thought she was insane, anyway._

_"Salazar's Locket, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. Why is it so unlikely that Voldemort made as many of the founder's famous heirlooms into Horcruxes as he possibly could?"_

_"Because the diadem is called the Lost Diadem for a reason," Arthur all but yelled. "Hermione," he said, his voice shaking with quiet anger, "this has to stop. We are done. We are tired. The Ministry_ is ripped _apart. We haven't even buried all our dead yet."_

_Hermione ground her teeth together until her jaw hurt._

_"So we do nothing," she said in a flat voice, blinking away tears of frustration. "We ignore Harry's vision of the Horcruxes, even though he had been right about every single one of them. Even about the snake. We just sit here and wait another thirteen years until he comes back. We ignore Harry's sacrifice."_

_She looked to Ron for support, but all the Weasley did was lower his head to stare intently on the surface of the wooden table._

_"Alright," she all but shrieked, hurt by the lack of trust and the level of willing blindness taking control of the room. "What about the Elder Wand then?"_

_A collective groan rippled through the kitchen._

_"Hermione, this has to stop. You are obsessing," Molly said._

_"We all battle our grief differently," McGonagall finally spoke, looking about the room through the glasses sitting atop her nose. Turning her attention to Hermione she went on. "Miss Granger, why don't you come to Hogwarts for a while? We are still in need of witches and wizards helping to rebuild it and I am planning on reopening the school again at some point."_

_Hermione curled her hands into fists in her lap. McGonagall was offering an olive branch, yet she didn't support Hermione's theory and if she did, she refrained from admitting it._

_"What about the Elder Wand?" Hermione asked again, staring daggers at the witch._

_"Well," the headmistress sighed. "I don't know where it is either. To my knowledge, the wand was buried with the wizard it belonged to last. Voldemort has searched for it, so have we, and we all have found Albus' tomb lacking the mystical stick."_

_Hermione was about to say something when McGonagall cut her off._

_"Miss Granger, the Deathly Hallows are scattered. The wand is gone, the stone is Merlin knows where and the cloak is tucked away safely in Harry Potter's vault at Gringotts. So let us worry about them when the time comes. Things like these don't stay lost forever."_

_Silence hung heavily in the air. Most of the Order members took the chance and got up, nodding their goodbyes. Neville squeezed her shoulder in passing. Ron stormed off without even looking at her._

_Left around the table were only Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall and herself._

_"What do we do about Harry Potter's vault, anyway?" Arthur asked, looking at the remaining witches and wizard around the table, his eyes lingering on Shacklebolt._

_"He doesn't have any blood-relatives. There is no one who could inherit it by law and as far as we know, he didn't leave a will." Shacklebolt had a thoughtful expression on his dark face._

_"So it goes to the Ministry?" Arthur asked._

_"There is Andromeda Tonks," Minerva suggested. "She is apart from her sisters the last surviving Black family member."_

_"Sirius gave it to Harry, wouldn't his next of kin then be the ones to inherit?" Arthur asked with a conflicted expression._

_"The Dursleys," Hermione heard herself say._

_Both men turned to look at her._

_"The- The Dursleys are - have been Harry's aunt and uncle. They are related by blood," she explained, knowing just enough about muggle hereditary rights._

_Shacklebolt got a thoughtful expression._

_"We could exclude them as they are muggles. What should they do with rare magical objects or let alone with this house?" Shacklebolt mused._

_"Can we also exclude Narcissa Black and Bellatrix Lestrange?" Arthur asked Kingsley._

_Hermione could see the gears in his head turning. They were looking at each other intently and she felt as if she had become witness to a devious plot._

_"I could ask in the Ministry if it, technically, would be possible to exclude the two sisters. One is a wanted criminal and one has been charged for war crimes," the new Minister of Magic mused, "it is a long stretch."_

_"And Andromeda would have to be willing to make the claim and defend it in case one of her sisters is making just the same," Arthur said._

_Shacklebolt looked at Arthur, considering, then turned to look at Hermione._

_"By law, it will go to the Ministry in case no Last Will will turn up and in case we cannot make it work, although I think it possible we lose a few things when moving everything out of the vault." His dark eyes twinkled with mischief. "There is no index of what the vault holds, so the Ministry wouldn't know what would be lost."_

_Hermione bit the inside of her cheeks, holding Shacklebolt's gaze. No one spoke a word and Hermione wasn't sure what to make of the implication. They would give her the last Deathly Hallow they had… because it was a memory? Then Ron had as much claim on it as she had._

_"You're going to sneak around Hogwarts," Minerva said, making obvious that the three of them had already talked and agreed to this. "The school will be open at some point. Besides, if it was with you, we knew it would be safe."_

_Hermione didn't know if it was an act of pity or if at least some of them acknowledged the possibility of her theories being somewhat true._

_After they had drunk to the dead in silence_ a last _time they had filed out quietly, leaving Hermione behind, alone. She found herself standing in front of Sirius' open bedroom door. They had spent several nights in this house while on the run. It was the house Harry had pictured to be his and Sirius home. Would it also go to the Ministry or would it go Andromeda Tonks?_

_If Arthur and Kingsley could make it work, it would mean, that at some point Grimmauld Place would go to Teddy. She liked the idea._

_\- - -_

_"Hey," a voice whispered from behind._

_Hermione turned from where she was standing at the door to the room Harry and Ron had shared during one summer spent at Grimmauld Place to see Charlie Weasley climbing the last steps. The wood creaking under his weight._

_Charlie had the trademark Weasley hair and Percy's height. What he also had was the build of a man who had spent most of his adult life caring for dragons. The formal dressing robes hid most of it away._

_"Any news about your parents?" he asked as he stood across from her in the narrow hallway._

_"No," she answered quietly, looking away._

_"You could stay with us, you know."_

_She felt a sad smile tug on her lips. "Thanks, but I don't think there is enough space."_

_"Oh yeah," Charlie sighed, running a hand through his short, messy hair. "I forget that I am used to sharing my space with so many Weasleys. Anything less crowded wouldn't feel like home for me." He chuckled. Then he grew silent, regarding her for a moment._

_"Come with me," Charlie said softly._

_Hermione didn't follow him out of curiosity, but because the ceremony had left her feeling numb and she didn't know what to do with herself. Climbing another flight of stairs Charlie led her into a study. It was poorly cleaned and the steep window and dark tapestry made the room look so sinister that no amount of candles would be able to fight the darkness away._

_With a flick of his wand flames came to life in the fireplace. Charlie rummaged in a cabinet._

_She had been in here numerous times before to stare in awe at the books the Black family had collected. Most of them were banned the others were almost impossible to get on the market._

_"Ha!" Charlie exclaimed, retrieving a dark bottle from the back of a shelf._

_Hermione stared at him with raised eyebrows. Charlie shrugged as he uncorked the bottle and flung himself into one of the armchairs in front of the fire, kicking up a cloud of dust._

_"Found it when we were camping out here during the first weeks. Helped me sleep." He regarded her with a long look she couldn't read. "You look as if you need help sleeping as well. Especially tonight."_

_Charlie was decent enough to conjure two cups he then filled generously before he handed her one. Placing the bottle on the floor between the two worn armchairs he leaned back to stare into the fire._

_"It was a nice service," he said after Hermione had sat down._

_Hermione felt her throat tighten._

_"It was," she whispered._

_"They really did a number on you and Ron."_

_Hermione huffed. "Yeah. Next thing we know there is a statue in the Atrium of the Ministry in honour of the Golden Trio," she mocked._

_Charlie took a sip from his cup. "People need heroes, Hermione. Those who survive and those who don't. They have to know it was all for something."_

_Silence settled between them._

_"Will you… will you rebuild the burrow?" Hermione asked carefully, gazing into the fire._

_"I think mom and dad will want to. Although I don't know if it's a good idea."_

_"Why not?" she asked._

_"Because none of us is the same."_

_Silence settled again between them. Finally, Hermione raised her cup to her lips, sniffing carefully before she took a drink - and ended up coughing as the liquid burned down her throat._ Next _to_ her _Charlie chuckled into his own cup._

_"How can you drink that?" she asked, pulling a face._

_"It grows on you," he winked. "Try another."_

_As if to mock her he raised his cup in a toast before he took another long drink himself. Hermione followed his example. The burn was as bad as the first time. She could feel it crawl down her throat. Warmth bloomed in her stomach._

_"Are you still living here?" he asked._

_"Somehow," she said, busying herself by tracing a finger around the rim of the cup. "At least until they sort out Harry's inheritance."_

_"What will you do when you are done searching Hogwarts?" he asked._

_"I don't know. Search somewhere else I guess."_

_After Charlie said nothing Hermione asked: "You don't believe me either, do you?"_

_To her side, the fabric of Charlie's robes rustled as he shifted in his chair._

_"It's not so much about believing or not believing you. I think it's more about what we can and cannot handle."_

_Hermione turned her head to look at him, only to find his eyes on her. She had never thought of Charlie as the philosophical type._

_"That's not what I asked," she said. "Do you believe me?"_

_Instead of answering Charlie studied her face and for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt_ herself seen _._

_He was handsome, she thought. Not in a beautiful manner, but in a masculine sharp-edged way. There was calm in his eyes, a calm that came from dancing with death too many times. Hermione suspected it was the way he was making a living that made him so settled within his own skin. Secure was the term she realised. Charlie didn't radiate confidence in his charm, but an infective calmness._

_"I think I want to," he said eventually, "but I think the consequences of what it would mean scare me too much."_

_It was the most straightforward answer she had ever gotten. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and nodded slowly before looking down at the cup in her hands. He was the first to tell her she wasn't completely barmy in the crumpet._

_"Have you spoken to Ron?" Charlie asked and Hermione's gut twisted with anger._

_"Your mom has sent you, hasn't she?" Her voice was tight, eyes still burning with unshed tears._

_"No. She sent Ron. I offered to come in his stead."_

_Charlie studied the hard lines around her mouth as she didn't reply._

_"Are you not going to ask?" Charlie said._

_"Ask what?"_

_"What exactly mom sent me here for."_

_"Fine," she snapped, surprised by the intensity of her own anger. "What exactly did Molly send you here for?"_

_"Because she thinks you need to be amongst family and friends."_

_Hurt welled up in her chest and for a moment she felt as if she couldn't breathe. There was no family left. Her parents were living in Australia with a mind too altered to be changed back. They would never remember their daughter or having a daughter ever again. Hermione had known the risk when she had obliviated herself out of their lives to protect them. It still hurt like a bitch._

_As for her friends… Harry was dead. Ron blamed her for it. All the others… Hermione felt as if amongst strangers. The connection they all had shared - the war, the fighting - was over and done. She often felt as if she didn't know herself anymore._

_"Now," Charlie whispered, still studying her face. "Ask me why I have offered to come."_

_Her lips trembled, and she had to swallow once before she could speak._

_"Why are you here?" she asked._

_Charlie smiled as if she_ at last _had asked what he wanted her to ask._

_"Because I am one of the few people, you don't share a history with."_

_Staring at him Hermione didn't know what to say. Merlin, she didn't even know what he meant. She watched Charlie raise the cup to his lips and down the rest of the_ auburn _liquid._

_"Drink up, Hermione," he said, snagging the bottle from the floor in between them. "We don't want you to fall behind." The smirk on his face was daring and if Hermione had known any better, she would have bet her wand that Charlie Weasley was flirting with her._

_Grabbing the cup tighter she forced the remaining liquid down her throat. She didn't like being drunk, didn't like losing control, but with her mind screaming at her and her heart too stifled with pain after Harry's burial today, she realised she wanted nothing more than to forget, even if only for a few hours. Charlie topped them up again._

_"Is this your usual way of handling your emotions?" she asked, still scowling at the burn in her throat._

_He let out a giggle. "No, not the usual. I found the stash when you and Ron had been busy ripping each other's hair out three weeks ago. I waited in here until the storm was over."_

_Three weeks ago when Ron and Charlie had shared a room at Grimmauld Place. Molly had brought the whole Weasley-clan over, thinking to do Hermione_ a favour _. In Molly's_ eyes _Hermione kept too much to herself, was too isolated._

_It had been the lowest point of the downward spiral between Ron and her so far. After the last meeting of the order, where McGonagall had offered her to search Hogwarts while they rebuilt it, Hermione had approached her friend, wanting to talk out whatever there was standing between them._

_Ron had made his point clear. From what she had taken away he blamed her for not letting go, for making it harder on all of them after everything they had lost. In the heat of the argument, Ron had even accused her of killing Harry. They had both hugged him goodbye before he had gone into the forest, and if Hermione was so sure that there was another Horcrux out there, then she was at fault that Harry was dead and that his sacrifice had been for nothing._

_He had called her names, had fought with her before. This, this had torn her apart. Ron had also made absolutely clear in highly colourful words what he thought of her as a woman and that he never had felt anything romantic for her. Hermione knew it was anger and grief that were eating him alive. She knew Ron was in so much pain. She knew because she felt the same. This, however, had shown that she didn't know the boy whom she had gone to school with, at all._

_"You heard that," Hermione muttered._

_"We all heard that."_

_Hermione closed her eyes, curling up into the plush of the armchair. Oh Merlin, how she wanted to be invisible right now._

_"So, you and my brother were together?" Charlie asked. He didn't sound astonished, more curious._

_"If you call a kiss in the heat of the moment 'together', then yes," she mumbled, keeping the other memories of desperate moments between them to herself._

_When Charlie said nothing she looked at him. He was staring into the flames._

_"Aren't you going to defend him?" she asked._

_Charlie glanced up, startled. "What for? That he insulted you at the lowest level? That he -" Charlie broke off, looking at her. "When the shouting match between the two of you started the others hurried out the front door. We all sensed it coming for weeks, but we never thought it would get out of hand like that."_

_As Hermione raised her eyebrows in a silent question Charlie continued._

_"The tension was palpable. From what I and everyone else took away from how you have clung to each other at the end of the battle, we just assumed you two were - together."_

_Hermione took a drink from her cup, hoping the liquid would dull her emotions further. So far, it did a decent enough job._

_"So you all have been talking about Ron and I. Great."_

_"Some. Mostly mom. She was happy for the two of you. But with Ginny being heartbroken, Fred and Harry dead she was desperate to grasp for any shred of happiness."_

_They fell silent again. Each of them nursing their cup and lost in their own thoughts._

_"Will you go back to Hogwarts?" Charlie asked after a while, picking up the bottle again._

_"Yes. Will you go back to Romania?" Hermione held out her already empty cup. Her tongue starting to feel heavy._

_"No. Were you in love with my brother?"_

_Hermione stared at him, her hand still outstretched with the empty cup._

_"No," she said. "I guess not."_

_Charlie gave her her third refill and put the bottle down again. "Your turn," he said._

_Hermione looked at him puzzled before she pulled back her cup and asked: "Have you ever been in love?"_

_"Yes," he answered, looking surprised by her question but not offended. He held her gaze sternly. "Did you really attend a ball with Viktor Krum?"_

_Laughter bubbled up in her chest, spilling over her lips. A tear streamed down her face and she hurriedly wiped it away with her free hand. Ron had told her to go to hell three weeks ago or look for another Viktor Krum before he had called her a delusional bitch._

_"Yes," she chuckled. "Is your next question if I had sex with him?" she found herself asking before she could think better of it._

_"Maybe," Charlie replied. Hermione looked at the playful grin on his face and felt her own smile falter._

_Hermione took a long drink from her cup, looking away. The moment had passed._

_\- - -_

_Charlie had made a habit of visiting her whenever she was at Grimmauld Place. She only stayed there when she wasn't at Hogwarts._

_Since the falling out between Ron and her, she hadn't seen Ron again. Ron made sure to stay away from her and they only crossed paths when on official war-hero duty. The Ministry awarded them with a goddamn medal. For their service in the war. As Hermione stood next to Shacklebolt, Ron on his other side, she forced a smile on her lips for the photographer._

_In the crowd, gathered in the Atrium of the Ministry, Charlie Weasley stood behind his mother, an arm wrapped around Ginny, who was curled up against the side of her brother. Their eyes met, and he smiled._

_Afterwards, Molly had insisted that Hermione would tag along for some celebration at their makeshift home. Molly had prepared a picnic and urged Hermione to come. Never would she have thought that she would be saved by a journalist before she had given Molly an answer._  
_The interview had taken about an hour. Her initial joy over the unexpected rescue had faltered quickly after she had discovered Ron was also about to be interviewed. With her. They had held their answers short, had declined any romantic involvement for the hundredth time and had refused_ commenting _on the happenings of the Final Battle or_ giving _their opinions to known Death Eaters like the Malfoy family or Severus Snape. The Wizarding Tribunal and newly set-up Wizengammot where in charge of speaking their verdict, not the public. Hermione knew she would read that sentence in the Daily Prophet tomorrow, already regretting her choice of words._

_After the interview Ron stomped off, catching up to Charlie, who was waiting at the floo in the Atrium. Having to leave by floo too Hermione followed behind slowly, making sure there was sufficient distance between them._

_"Let's go. I'm done with this crap," Ron muttered._

_"You go ahead. I'm not waiting for you, brother," Charlie replied, looking past Ron._

_Ron eyed his brother and turned around, following his gaze, only to see Hermione approaching._

_"Mom sent me to pick her up. She hasn't been by the cottage for so long, she wants to make sure Hermione finds her way," Charlie announced cheerfully._

_Ron shot her a seething glance, muttering a curse under his breath before he finally stepped into the floo._

_"Hermione." There was a soft smile on Charlie's lips._

_"Charlie," she replied._

_"Sadly, the picnic won't hold any ancient whisky or brandy for us to drown our sorrow in, George has exciting news, though."_

_He gestured towards the floo._

_"If you would go first? Mom threatened me with no dessert if I don't bring you." He winked at her and Hermione, accepting defeat, stepped into the floo._

_Turned out George Weasley would reopen and resume business in Diagon Alley, alongside with his soon to be wife Angelina Johnson._

_It was that very day when a group of witches and wizards attacked the home of a muggle-born witch and a half-blood wizard in Wales, killing them and their three children in a spectacularly brutal and gruesome manner._

_It only strengthened Hermione's resolve that this war was not over yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates bi-weekly.   
> Won't be able to hold a weekly schedule.


	4. Chapter 4

The first days at Hogwarts had been rough. She felt drawn. Every corner, every turn reminded her of days long gone. With all the students, barely younger than her, occupying the halls and seats in her classroom… even after years the pain went deeper than she had thought possible. 

In her search Hermione had wandered the halls and corridors by herself for what had felt like forever. She had contributed to the reconstruction of the castle and had even been allowed to work on some of the charms the backbone of the castle was made of. She had felt as if she had followed the Founders themselves on some ancient, mysterious path. Now, with students sitting in the seats she had sat in herself in the Arithmancy classroom 7A and on the benches she had sat on in the Great Hall with her friends, she felt as if she had been betrayed. In some manner she had been. They all had. The war had stolen their innocence, parts of their childhoods and young adult lives. The war had forced to grow up before their time. Lost time they would never get back. 

Standing in the empty classroom, the pupils of her last class for today dismissed, she realised why it hurt so much to watch them laugh, to see them learn, knowing she would watch them grow throughout the school year. Even after all those years, Hermione had never given herself the time to grief. 

Pain washed over her, wrapped its icy fingers around her heart. Grabbing the edge of her table she gasped for air. Pressing her eyes shut Hermione fought to keep her composure. By now it was a familiar feeling, the pain looming on the edges of her mind. It was waiting, patiently, looking for cracks to slip in. 

No one would come into this classroom today. It would be so easy to just let go. So easy.

Her entire world felt like a house of cards, staked on wobbly grounds. If it would collapse in on itself, she would suffocate.

She exhaled, her breath shaking in rhythm with her hands. If she let go now, she wouldn't be able to come back from it. Not by the time she needed to be okay again. 

Straightening herself she checked if her hair was still in place before she picked up the essays from her desk and tucked them under her arm. Closing her eyes she stood for a moment, breathing slow, deep breaths.

She was okay, she told herself. She had to be. There was no one there to pick up the pieces if she wasn't.

  


Dinner at Hogwarts was not the same when sitting at the teacher's table. The food was the same, the enchanted ceiling of the hall was the same. Only she was not. 

Opposed to the last two nights, when Hermione had been one of the first to arrive only to scoff down some food, before heading out again to devote her evening time to things that really mattered, she arrived on Wednesday, the third day of semester, when the hall was filled with the chatter of students and the scraping noises of cutlery. Neville was there too, deep in conversation with Hooch and Flitwick. The three of them bent towards each other as if plotting some kind of conspiracy. The headmistress' seat, Hermione noted, was empty. 

Standing in the doorway she looked about the room. The late summer sky was hung with heavy clouds, the evening sun painting the enchanted ceiling auburn.

Steeling herself, she walked over to the teachers' table. There were only a few seats left. Severus Snape was the only one to sit alone, only one seat separating him from the rest of the group. He was sitting on the left end of the table. Along teachers, some eating in silence and some chatting over their meals, the black figure seemed the only one to really sit alone. As if there was some barrier around the former potions teacher. 

Slowly she passed the free seats to slide down in the vacant seat next to him. It was the same one she had sat in when the term had started. The moment she reached for the jug of juice to fill her cup Severus Snape lay down his silverware and wiped his mouth with the napkin from his lap. Hermione looked over just to see him walking away from an unfinished dinner. Apparently Hermione had made an impression so lasting, that Snape couldn't even stand sitting next to her at dinner. It felt as if he had spit in her face. Yes, it had been unfortunate for him to overhear her unmasked opinion about him, yet this open display of hostility and dislike hurt in some unexpected, paradox way. She didn't trust him, didn't think he should be at Hogwarts teaching, so it should be her walking away from him, not the other way around. 

Stunned she stared after him, his dark robes billowing behind him. At the door next to the Slytherin table, the one leading to the dungeons, she watched Snape running into Slughorn. Hermione couldn't see Snape's face, the astonished and almost frightened look on Horace Slughorn's face as he stepped aside hurriedly to let the former Death Eater pass, not surprising her. Snape had probably threatened to hex the new potions teacher into yesteryear with a single stare - and they all knew very well how capable of it Snape would be.

"What do you think?" Hermione turned with a start only to find herself looking at Hooch's expecting face. 

"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice a bit too high. 

"What do you think?", Hooch repeated. 

"About what?"

"The Quidditch trials", Neville jumped in from a seat over, leaning forward to be able to look past Hooch.

"We will have Quidditch teams. Isn't that wonderful?" Hooch looked delighted. 

"I-", Hermione realised she had only not wasted a single thought about Quidditch, she actually couldn't find herself to care about the sport or whether there would be teams this year. "I guess so?" Hermione tried carefully.

Hooch huffed and Flitwick raised his eyebrows three seats over as he shoved a fork full of potatoes into his mouth. 

"My, my", Horace muttered as he sank on the empty chair next to Hermione, where Snape had sat only moments ago. The plate and cup cleaned magically already. Picking up his napkin he rearranged the cutlery as if the way it was perfectly aligned was not perfect enough. 

"It must be hard walking society as an outcast, no matter by whom you are pardoned." Horace cut the dinner roast in the middle, to get himself the most tender part, it's colour a beautiful rose. "A stark contrast, I might add, to you, Miss Granger, being a celebrated war-heroine." Horace continued preparing his plate with dark, creamy gravy and mashed potatoes. "It must be hard for him to be reminded of his failings every time you enter the room." 

Hermione watched him decorating his plate, her hands resting on the table, clutching her silverware. Words, so carelessly spoken, held a mirror to her face in which she saw something not to like. Herself. 

As if remembering something he turned to her, his features delighted. "You must come to my next gathering. For old times sake."

Next Horace started telling her about his students, about how much liberty this unusual curriculum gave him and his favourite students. This year's favourite at least. On her other side she heard the discussion about Quidditch continuing. 

Hermione stared down at her plate, her food barely touched. She felt out of place. A stranger in her own life. 

Horace words rung in her ears. They had cut deep, and she remembered the way McGonagall had looked at her when she had confronted the headmistress after the celebratory welcoming dinner. The headmistress had been outraged and, worst of all, disappointed. Snape's face had been indifferent and of course it had been. He was, after all, a spy, had been one for… Hermione didn't even know how long. It was not like the Tribunal had shared any transcripts of the hearing and the Vow kept every member from spilling any details. Snape had not spoken to any newspaper or magazine. Nothing was known about the Potions Master, other than few of his crimes, which were mostly suspicions, his role as a spy, without any details being common knowledge, and his pardon.

Agreeing to whatever Horace next to her said without listening she dove deeper into her own mind. 

Snape. Hermione didn't know what it was like to be an outcast. She had known when she had been eleven years old. She wasn't anymore. Neither of them were. Pushing her food around on her plate Hermione wondered how much courage and strength someone would have to posses to return as a teaching body after being branded a spy and hero, half the population thanking him the other half demanding his head on a spike. The only loud voices in the crowd for him came from the second half. It was easier to channel pain and hurt into anger, thankful to have someone to blame than to speak up for the right thing. She knew. Apparently she had forgotten.

As if waiting to come forward once more the memory of Ron's words rang in her ears. Loud and clear, as if a howler had just yelled them at her. He had blamed her for Harry's death, for not being there for him. Words that had cut deep and had been unjustified. For her at least. For Ron they had been true. It had taken Hermione long to realise that. It didn't make the feeling of hurt and betrayal go away. Looking at the empty doorway through where Snape had disappeared Hermione wondered if contempt cut everyone the same way.

She was not better than them, not better than Ron. She too was throwing her pent-up emotions at someone. In her case she threw them the Potions Masters way. Snape was there, an available and easily justified target. Hermione felt sick with herself.

"Walk with me." Neville looked at her.

Hermione hadn't heard Hooch getting up. Hooch was almost out the double doors, in deep discussion with Flitwick, leaving the seat between the two Gryffindors empty. Staring after the Flying Instructor Hermione realised for the first time how much Hooch spoke with her hands. She lowered her gaze to her food again, not feeling up to meeting Neville's gaze. Her mind was all over the place. She should not have come to dinner so late.

"If you stare at it a little longer, you might can have it for breakfast." Neville said.

Hermione huffed. He was right, she had barely eaten anything. Hermione finally looked up at him. There was kindness in his eyes. An offer for friendship. Looking at him she felt the emotions in her guts settle and her mind calming down.

"So, will you come?" Neville asked.

"Now, would you honour me with your presence at the next gathering?" Horace asked when Hermione got up.

"Of course, Professor," she heard herself say, automatically, realising too late what she had just agreed to.

"Wonderful! I'll send you an owl with the invitation." Of course he would. Telling her in person over dinner or lunch or, behold, breakfast, would be too common. 

Just as she walked away with Neville Hagrid came in, Horace waving the giant over. Hagrid smiled at the young teachers in passing. Hermione had not been to see Hagrid since he had come back from visiting his half-brother. 

Another one, she thought bitterly. Another friend she had not visited, not been around. Guilt hung heavy in her gut.

Neville waited at the end of the table for her. In his long, dark robes he looked so much older than he was. He held himself differently she realised as he fell into step beside her. Not a boy anymore, but a man. 

  


"How are classes?" she asked, because there was nothing else between them to talk about. 

"Good. Very good, actually." Neville said, beaming. "I never imagined how much fun it would be to work with… younger versions of us."

Hermione shot him a look and Neville laughed. 

"What?" he asked. "I imagined you would find your true calling teaching Arithmancy of all things." 

There was no mock in his voice, he was just teasing her. An easy banter between friends. Hermione almost forgot what it felt like. Were they still friends, though? After all this time not being visitors in each others lives?

"It is," she said. The words tasted like a lie. "It could be." Hermione hesitated a moment.

"Are they pestering you with questions about the war too?" she asked as they made their way down the hall and up a wide staircase. 

"Oh yes. I even told them to ask right away."

Frowning she stared at him, almost missing a step. "Why?"

Instead of answering Neville kept on walking for a while, draping silence around them like a comfortable coat. 

"How have you been?" he asked, when he led them down another hallway, leaving her question unanswered.

"Busy," she said. "I'm sure you know all about it." Hermione sounded bitter, sure that he remembered the last Order Meeting he had been present at. It had been one of many where the other members had told her to stop with her obsession and one of the last she had brought it up. "I'd ask you the same, but I know what you've been doing."

"And I can't really talk about it," he agreed, smiling tight-lipped at her. "Thank you for not asking."

"I understand," she said. "You swore a vow not to. An Unbreakable Vow. Even if you wanted to talk about it, you couldn't." Curious she asked: "Can you talk to each other about it?"

"We can. We do. At least with Arthur I do. The others have… different stories. They have not been there."

"Arthur has not been there either. Not really. Neither have I." Hermione said.

"You came. That matters. And Arthur," Neville sighed, "he was in the Order, they fought too. The other members had not been in the resistance, they only entered the fight when the war was at its peak." For a moment Neville grew quiet. "They had to protect their families," he said quietly. 

Fear was what had petrified society. The ideals and goals of Voldemort had been in the memories of every witch and wizard across Britain. Vividly, form his first attempt to seize power. No one had wanted him to win, yet the threat to the muggle-blooded and half-blood families had been just too real all the same. The only way Hermione was able to join Harry and fight was by erasing herself out of her parents life. It had been a drastic step and had only been possible because her parents had been muggles, living outside the Wizarding World. 

Shortly after the Final Battle she had been angry at the world for not fighting back but broadcasting their unvalued opinions about the war and their tales of its cost when they had not been fighting. At least not really. Not as the Order or the DA had. Not as she and Harry and Ron had. It had taken her a long time to understand that they hadn't dared to fight, out of fear and because they were protecting their families. It had also helped her to understand what Ron had fought for. 

"Do you think there will ever be a time where a witch and wizards are worth the same, regardless of their ancestry?" she asked, following Neville down the stairs to the courtyard corridor.

"With the attacks still happening? I don't know. I want to believe it, but until those maniacs are caught it just feels as if the end of the war is just… it feels as if its dragging on. All while we listen to war crimes and lies and betrayals." Neville shook his head.

There were lines on his face, Hermione realised, lines that made him look sterner than she knew him to be. She didn't really know him anymore. She didn't know herself anymore. Things had changed too much and they all just had ignored it, trying desperately to move on, to move beyond it.

Hermione wanted to talk to him. The words where rolling around on her tongue, pressing against the back of her teeth. His presence was grounding, relaxing. Soothing. She wanted to ask him about the absurd nickname Malfoy had gained in the Daily Prophet most recently. The Untouchable. She wanted to ask Neville if he did believe her or if he too thought she was a complete idiot with a hero-complex by looking for another, maybe not even existing, Horcrux. 

"How is Hannah," she asked instead. As far as she knew they had been dating at some point. 

"We broke up," Neville said, stopping next to one of the pillars supporting the courtyard corridor's roof and turned towards her. Hermione was again stunned by his transformation. In what was supposed to be their seventh year Neville had… grown. There was no other word that fit, she thought, looking at him, really looking at him for the first time. 

"When?" she asked.

Neville had grown quite a bit in that last year and some more afterwards. The teeth fit his face nicely and the once soft lines on his roundish face were now more angular, his jaw more prominent. The fluffy young boy with a lion's courage and a heart of gold had grown into a tall man with broad shoulders and a lopsided grin. 

"A while ago, shortly after the trials started." He turned to look up at something. "It's easier, don't you think?" 

Hermione was still staring at him, not sure what he was getting at, until she followed his gaze. They stood looking up at the astronomy tower. 

"What is?"

"When you offer them the possibility to ask." His voice was soft. "Wouldn't you have a million questions?" He glanced at her, smiling, before looking back up at the tower. "I'm sure you would pester your professors relentlessly if we were sitting in their seats."

Hermione kept staring up at the tower, refusing to give into the impulse to let her gaze wander down. Down, to where Dumbledore had lain six years ago. He was right. She would have a million questions herself if she would be them, if not even more. After all, there were still so many unanswered questions for her now.

"We would be way more innocent if we were sitting in their seats."

A few students were crossing the courtyard in the grey light of dusk, some of them slowing down and pointing at the grounds of the courtyard, right in front of the tower. They were looking for the place where he had died. She observed the students, imagining what she would be like if she was in their shoes. Would she too be trying to retrace the war, trying to piece together the last moments of Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Lost Fifty? 

The Lost Fifty. Fifty witches and wizards who had lain down their lives in the Battle of Hogwarts. The Final Battle. Those were only the deaths on their side. The number didn't take into account the followers and fanatics on Voldemort's side. Didn't take into account the victims of the Death Eaters raids and attacks. So many lives wasted.

Who was she kidding? Of course she would. 

"Where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" she heard herself ask.

Neville turned to look at her again.

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "But wherever it is, I hope it stays there."

Students passed them, greeting the young professors with quiet voices and curious eyes. 

"Everything's over," she said sardonically after the students were out of earshot. "At least to everyone else. So why does it matter if it turns up?"

"Is it?" Neville asked.

Her head snapped back towards him. Though before she could phrase her astonishment into inquisitive or outraged words Neville said: "I think it's time you talked to him."

"Whom?" she shot back.

The way he looked at her. There was something in his eyes. Something… she couldn't quite name. Hermione felt as if he wanted to tell her something, without telling her.

"Snape," Neville said.

"Snape?!" Hermione almost spat the word out. "What does he-"

The clock on top the tower stroke nine times.

"It's almost time for my rounds," Neville said tersely. "Meet me in greenhouse five before classes tomorrow."

Hermione stood in the courtyard, by herself, staring after Neville, not sure what just had happened. The gears in her head were turning at a pace she was starting to feel dizzy.

No one had believed her when she was going on about how this whole thing was not over that she was certain Voldemort's attempt to seize power had three episodes. Snape had been a spy. He had spied for the Order, had played Voldemort. Surely he had information, but if he had information that would help her, then he would have said something, surely. Then the Wizarding Tribunal would have heard everything about it at his hearing.

Hermione felt as if someone had poured a bucket of iced water over her head. She slumped against the stone pillar, her chest tight as realisation hit her like a bludger at full speed. 

Whatever the Tribunal had heard when in session, they could not talk about it. In case Snape had information about any remaining Horcruxes that held more parts of Voldemort's rotten soul, he would have to speak up, as the members of the Tribunal were bound by the Unbreakable Vow in order to protect those that had been pardoned and themselves from interrogation by society and the press. 

Not that Rita Skeeter had respected any of their privacies. Vile little bug. 

Snape. Neville wanted her to talk to Snape. Her head was spinning. 

Until now she had been sure that Snape didn't hold any valid information. He had not reached out to the Order and had not answered her letter. So either he had nothing of relevance or he didn't want to share the information he had. No matter how big the grudge she was having, she had been sure it was the former. What reason was there for Snape to not speak up when there was, in fact, something to her theory?

Something about it still didn't feel right. Neville had never given a sign or the slightest hint. He had never said a single thing. Not until now. He had barely participated in the meetings of the Order once the Tribunal had been established and… and how was he able to teach at Hogwarts with his obligations at the Wizarding Tribunal, anyway?

The chaos in her mind died down as she realised that she had not even once spoken to Neville since they were here. She hadn't seen him once since the Sorting Ceremony. 

She had been a crappy friend. A shit friend if she was honest. She hadn't even known about Hannah. Again, she was forced to stare into that mirror in her heart. Who was that bitter person staring back at her?

With a new resolution she made her way to her quarters. Tomorrow morning she would find Neville and interrogate him. First she would want to know how he had ended up a teacher with his Wizarding Tribunal duties.

  


The next day Hermione was, as usual, up before the dawn. The days were getting shorter and Samhain was only a few weeks away. Getting ready she wondered if Hagrid was growing pumpkins again this year.

Skipping breakfast Hermione went past the Great Hall and out towards the castle grounds. Neville hadn't given her a precise time and she had felt restless ever since he had left her staring after him the night before. Hermione had considered camping out in front of Greenhouse Five, but had thought better of it. Barely. 

Voices were coming from within. The smell of warm and wet earth bled out the partially open door. The air was moist and humming with young Mandrakes. As soon as she had pushed to door open and stepped in the voices died down abruptly and Hermione found herself staring at Neville and Severus Snape's dark figure. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments breathe light into my life.


End file.
